


the lovecats || miles morales/reader

by moosetracksandscenechanges



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Marvel Cinematic Universe - Freeform, Reader Insert, Suicide mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 13:48:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22137100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moosetracksandscenechanges/pseuds/moosetracksandscenechanges
Summary: Miles Morales talks you out of suicide and navigates his feelings for you in and out of the suit.
Relationships: Miles Morales/Reader
Comments: 17
Kudos: 111





	the lovecats || miles morales/reader

**Author's Note:**

> tw for attempted suicide. please stay alive. there is always someone who will listen to you, there is always a reason to keep on living. you have infinite worth.P
> 
> love, moose

Relatively clean floors, the sound of loafers and mary janes against them, ironed uniforms and people you didn’t know who all seemed to know each other very well, the weight of your suitcase dragging against your forearm, the air around you surrounded by whispers. A dorm-mate that you didn’t really register, your mind blankly trying to adjust to the new environment, even though it’s almost exactly like every other school you’ve been to. You inhaled shakily, familiarity drifting through your veins. Ah, private school.

Homeroom, first day, a teacher trying her best.

“Alright, so we’re going to introduce ourselves. I know, I know! I know nobody likes icebreakers, but we’re going to spice it up a little.”

The way she said “spice it up” was nauseating. You tried to swallow the heavy feeling of something wrong. Some of your classmates seemed to agree, but to a lesser extent, groaning.

“You say your name, what school you went to last year, and then you ask the person next to you a question. Any question, but—wait, no, ask—” Three words, a long line, and a question mark on the whiteboard. She circled it. “What’s your favorite—and then you fill in the topic.”

Your stomach turned.

Alright, you’ve got this, you’ve got this. You know your name and your old school.

But… a question?

You drummed your fingernails against your desk, feeling the reverb of the sound against the keratin. It was off-putting. Gaze darting around the room, you panicked, trying to find something to ask about. A textbook—a book! What’s your favorite book? That’s a—

“My favorite flavor of ice cream is rocky road, my name is Charlie, I went to Visions last year, what’s your favorite book?”

Your heart slammed against your ribcage like Phil Collins, but if Phil Collins had social anxiety and your ribcage was a drumset and your heart was drumsticks and—oh, that is _so_ dumb. That is _so dumb. Please just murder me right now,_ you pleaded to a higher power, _any_ higher power, really.

“(Y/n)?”

Shit. Shit shit shit.

“(Y/n), what’s your favorite book?”

You searched for another question, for something—daisies on the spine of a girl’s binder. What’s your favorite flower! Perfect!

“Hey, (Y/n), are you alright?”

(Y/n), New Heights, what’s your favorite flower?

“(Y/n)? (Y/n)!”

You coughed somewhat violently and completely farcically, trying desperately to ignore the heat drawn to your face. “Um—my favorite book is Watchmen by Alan Moore, my name is (Y/n), I went to New Heights last year.” You glanced over at the kid next to you. “What’s your favorite type of flower?”

Oh—it was a guy. Oh, he must be emb—

“My favorite type of flower is probably a sunflower,” he said, and he was smiling—oh, he was smiling _right_ at you. He was… jeez, he was really cute. He had the kind of smile that made you feel kind of warm inside… okay, _wow._ “My name’s Miles, I went to BMS last year, what’s your favorite number?”

Graphite sunflowers came to life in the margins of your syllabus. Something small and white—a scrap of paper folded a couple times, not your ghostwriter, though the resemblance was uncanny—slid onto your desk.

_You okay?_

But who could have—oh, it said _Miles_ at the bottom.

You looked at him without moving your head and flashed a small thumbs up, which he returned.

Everyone else filed out of the classroom, and you headed to your next class, but someone tapped your shoulder. “Oh, hey,” you exhaled, a bit relieved.

“Are you alright? You seemed pretty nervous,” Miles asked as the two of you walked.

“I’ve been nervous since ‘98.”

Miles quirked an eyebrow. “Neither of us were alive then.”

“I don’t remember the last time I felt alive,” you half-joked. “Yeah, I, um, I have social anxiety.”

“Well, if it helps, you’re passing as pretty relaxed right now.”

“I think it’s just you.”

The boy standing next to you laughed a bit, but not awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s nice to talk to someone who didn’t go here last year, either.”

—

Your nails almost scraping against the back of your ear, you eased in the metal hook of the earring, leaning back from the mirror and watching the sunflowers swing just a little. They were cute. You weren’t sure if they were in dress code, but you didn’t care.

—

There were some kids outside sitting on the few benches outside of Visions, and you had already said goodbye to Gwen and Miles, so you didn’t really have anyone to walk with. You didn’t know where they lived, but you assumed it wasn’t close to your house.

“Bye, love you, mom.” You hung up. It felt like forever.

You shoved your phone into your jacket pocket, trying to remember self-defense tips. You knew your way back home from Visions, and you could get home fine, but it was getting a bit dark, and—

Footsteps.

You started walking faster, heart rate sounding off next to your ears, and then something white and pink moved by you rather quickly. The metal of your keys was colder the harder you held it.

The footsteps grew louder. They weren’t just footsteps, also… noises you heard, sounds that only novice superheroes and raccoons could make, which was mainly scurrying around and the like.

“I—I’m only fifteen,” your voice cracked as you whipped around, “please, don’t—”

The new Spider-Man’s eyes widened, and he backed up a little. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to startle you.”

You remembered flashes of watching the news and seeing him on there and thought maybe this was safe, so you released most of your tension. “Oh, that’s… that’s cool.”

“Would you mind if I walked you home?”

You hesitated. You could tell him you could defend yourself, but that would conflict with your actions, namely freaking the hell out when someone was behind you. “Y… yeah. That’d be nice.”

——

What Miles was doing could be creepy. He wasn’t really sure. However, you seemed down with it, so he tried to relax. And it was noble intent, right? Protecting someone at a statistically higher rate of danger at night. Yeah. It was just a little weird when he knew that someone and maybe kind of liked her—he wasn’t really sure—stop it.

It was just that you were so goddamn—just—ugh.

You shoved your hands into your pockets. “So what are you doing on this side of Brooklyn?”

“Fighting crime,” he answered, somewhat confused as to how you hadn’t recognized his voice yet, but, well, grateful for it.

“Sounds fun.”

“The hours are long.”

“I mean, as long as the pay’s good…?”

Miles felt the corners of his mouth curve upwards behind the mask. “Oh, it’s not.”

“But the feeling of helping someone is, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.”

“Is the physical aspect hard?” You had excellent posture, he noticed. Why would he notice that? No, really, why _would_ he notice that? “I just see you, like, on the news, just get back up almost immediately. Is that a kind of… well… innate Spider-Man thing, or is it practice?”

“Everything just kind of… clicked when I put on the suit for the first time,” Miles confessed. “It’s not the easiest, and it’s definitely dangerous, to say the least.”

“And you’re, like, my age, right?” You kind of looked away a bit, and there was a bit of a pause before you spoke again. “How do you handle school and everything?”

“I mean, that depends. How old are you?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “I’m a sophomore, turning sixteen.”

Miles exhaled. “Yeah, we’re about the same age. Um, about handling school and everything… honestly, I have no idea.”

“Okay, that’s good—”

Good? That wasn’t anything like what he expected you to say. The eyes on his suit widened.

“—because I don’t either,” you laughed, running a hand through your hair. A nervous tic, Miles remembered. “I just started going to a new school and absolutely _nothing_ makes sense, so it’s… really nice to hear someone else say what I’m feeling, especially Spider-Man.”

“Yeah, it always is.” Miles sighed, before looking back up. “Wait, why especially me?”

“I mean, I only have, like, two friends.” Oh, jeez. _We’re talking about this now?_ he panicked, plastering on a smile even though you couldn’t see him. And as far as he knew, you only had one friend, and that was his civilian form, and also, were you trying to impress Spider-Man by saying you had more friends than you actually did? Wait, why were you trying to impress Spi—wait, did you have a celebrity crush on Spider-Man? Or did you just have another friend? This seemed like a weird choice of a detail to fixate on, but—whatever. “And one of them? He always seems like he doesn’t know what’s going on, but he always finds out what’s going on and adapts. It’s—it’s fucking amazing.”

“I feel like everyone who’s self-conscious about their intelligence is always at least a little bit smarter than they think they are,” said Miles, not knowing what to say to that, considering the fact he was pretty sure you were talking about him.

You kind of looked up and exhaled, like you wanted to laugh a little right before you disagreed. “I don’t know about always.”

“Grades don’t necessarily measure intelligence,” he rubbed the arm of his suit a little out of not knowing what to do with his hands, but also a little out of not bringing his hoodie. “Just the ability to listen and repeat.”

“Oh—are you cold?”

“Nah, I’m fine, I’m not cold,” he said whilst shivering a little, shivering being a nervous systemic reaction to being cold.

“You can take my jacket, if you want,” you stopped walking in order to slip out of the sleeves and offer the jacket to Miles. “I’m not cold or anything, I just didn’t want to carry it.” It was one you wore sometimes, he remembered you saying that you took it from your older brother but it was still your favorite jacket. That’s, well… okay, wow. Absolutely no hesitation to give an almost stranger your favorite jacket. Now _that_ is romantic, although Miles was only used to seeing the gender roles reversed. Is this what flirting is like? No, it’s just a jacket, _Miles._ But it is—that’s— _carajo,_ that’s some wild shit—wow. He… was just standing there. That’s weird. What the fuck is happening?

The jacket fit almost perfectly. Miles nodded in gratitude (or at least tried to, because how do you even…?), finding himself oddly and intensely touched. That made him freak out a little. Maybe a lot. Thank God for this mask, right? Was he reading into this too much? Oh, god. He didn’t know how to read into it, or what to think about it, or what the hell he was supposed to do now. Uncle Aaron’s advice… he was too flustered to remember it, and even when he was clear-minded enough to recall Uncle Aaron’s advice, it was rather unclear and somewhat called into question after him being a supervillain. Maybe you just… didn’t want him to be cold. Jesus Christ, his brain felt like a minefield. Well, if it was some kind of… advance… he should reciprocate it… right…?

“Thanks—um…?” He _almost_ gave it away. He _almost_ said your name.

“Oh, I’m (Y/n),” you ran a hand through your hair. Miles remembered vividly that you offered him a handshake right after you first met, because almost no one his age unironically did handshakes. He also saw you move to offer a handshake, but then almost immediately withdraw your hand.

“That’s a pretty name.” Oh, shit, that’s too bold. He was borderline spitting game, you just gave him your jacket. Although, some would argue that giving someone your jacket after seeing them shiver is somewhat intimate. But you know what’s more intimate? Giving you _back_ the jacket because you looked cold. No, that’s dumb, don’t do that.

“Ha, um, thanks,” you smiled, running a hand through your hair yet again. Did your hair really move that much, or were you just nervous?

Oh, _were_ you nervous? Oh, _shit! Oh!_ You _did_ have a crush on Spider-Man! Or was he rea—

“I _would_ say the same, except I don’t know your real name, spidey.”

Miles breathed out, deciding that ‘spidey’ didn’t sound half as juvenile coming from you. He used to think it was better than Spider-Boy, and way better than, God forbid, Spiderman, yet not as good as Spider-Man (yes, the hyphen is important), but now he liked it. Good lord. _Gwen could help with this… she’s not here, though…_

 _“Dios ayudenme, por favor,”_ he mumbled under his breath, underestimating your hearing.

“When Spider-Man is praying, you know you’re in trouble,” you teased, your grin widening when he faltered.

Miles blinked. _“¿Hablas español?”_ His mom would like that—why was he thinking about that!?

 _“Si, por supuesto, mi amor,”_ all of a sudden your face flushed beet red, _“shit,_ I’m only used to talking to family members in Spanish,” you sputtered. Not knowing what the _hell_ to say, Miles pointed finger guns in your direction.

“Same, really,” Miles’s voice cracked. He thought after his Spider-Man growth spurt, that wasn’t going to happen anymore, but… He plastered on a smile, even though you couldn’t see. Miles was absolutely positive he was blushing under the suit. _Shit._

“But yeah, I know Spanish, kind of,” you tried to recover. “I’m just rusty.”

“Ha. Cool.” More finger guns. Jesus _Christ._

“Anyways, um…” you kind of fidgeted more. He hadn’t really seen you without a jacket before, be it the one he was wearing or the blazer that was part of the school’s uniform, but you were wearing black clothes and ripped jeans and holy shit, if he didn’t think you were hot before… He tried to focus again. “I don’t really… oh, shit, we’re almost there.” _We?_ You stopped and pulled out your phone, a piece of paper, and a pen.

Miles tilted his head to the side almost unconsciously. What were you doing?

You tapped the screen a few times and scribbled something down, before handing it to Miles. “This is, um—this is my Discord tag. You seem pretty cool, um, and I don’t know if you have Discord already, but, like, you can make another email and make an account, and, um, we can… keep in touch. But, like, anonymously. Am I making sense?”

“Yeah, sure,” he smiled, sure you couldn’t see him and the piece of paper, which he would have tucked into a pocket on his suit, if he _had any pockets._ Whatever. He’d just memorize it. Only four digits, no big deal.

You beamed. Somehow, some way, after obsessing over your every action for the entire walk, he managed to distract himself from noticing that you just did the awkward version of giving him your number.

Oh, wait—how will he get the jacket back to y—

“Thanks for letting me borrow your jacket.” He handed it back to you.

“No, you can—” you paused, thinking about something. Probably about how you shouldn’t give away your favorite jacket immediately. He was pretty sure you were about to finish with ‘you can keep it’, before realizing your brother would kill you. So you wrapped it around your shoulders. “You… can… be thanked. For walking me home. So, thanks.”

He was about to do one of those two finger informal salutes (that sounds like a weird way to talk about fingering someone), when his spidey sense went off, you embraced him, and his brain went fuzzy. “No problem,” he mumbled, completely off guard.

You let go. Miles’s synapses tingled. He didn’t really think you could feel synapses tingling, but that was the only thing he could think of to describe it.

He decided to go for it. “Um… _¿estás un girasol?”_

You looked confused. “Sorry?”

 _“Porque pienso que estás maravillosa._ Bye, (Y/n),” he waved.

He heard you say, “Wait, what the fuck?” right before he ziplined away.

—

“It’s just a jacket,” Gwen looked at him like he was insane. Which he probably was.

“It’s her favorite jacket,” Miles hyperventilated a bit. “I don’t think she’s _ever_ done that.”

“Wait, the one she wears all the time?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Oh, God, she likes you.” The blonde held her head in her hands and dragged them down her face. “But not _you_ you. She likes _spider_ -you.”

“What am I going to do?” He sat down on his bed for a moment. “I can’t tell her who I am.”

“I mean, you _can,”_ Gwen gestured vaguely, “it’s just highly unwise.”

Miles paused, lost in thought. “But, like… why Spider-Man? Like, why is she into _my_ superhero? Why couldn’t it have been literally everyone else?”

“Maybe she just has a thing for superheroes and you happen to be her age.”

“Maybe.” He spread his hands. “Or she thinks I’m—”

“Yeah, that could be it, because almost every single other superhero in your universe is an adult.”

“But, like… if this happened to you, what would you think?”

“Who would it be?”

“Still (Y/n).”

Gwen hesitated. “It’s harder to tell, actually. I mean, she’s definitely into you, like, hardcore. But if she said the _mi amor_ bit to me, she’s definitely flirting. I think. Man, I don’t know. Is she straight? Because straight girls are, like, a completely different can of worms. Man, this one time—”

“But what do you think I should do?”

“Keep walking her home. Maybe you’ll get a girlfriend. Worked for me.”

“As… Spider-Man? Because I don’t think that’s a good idea at all—”

The blonde glitched a bit. “Hey, just try your best. If she was flirting back or whatever you nerds do, she likes Spider-Man you, and when you give someone a mask, who they really are comes out. No pun intended. Now, I have to go home. See you later, Miles.”

“See you, Gwen.”

Someone knocked on the door erratically.

“Come in?”

You peeked through a crack in the door. “Miles! I met Spider—did someone just crawl out the window?”

Miles’s head went blank. “Yes?”

“Whatever,” you breezed past him and sat in his chair. “I met Spider-Man! And I think he hit on me!”

“Cool. What happened?” Miles turned to face you, trying not to die.

“He walked me home from school, and I gave him my jacket because he was shivering, and then when I got to my apartment, he said, ‘Are you a sunflower, because I think you’re gorgeous’ and then he just—” you mimed his web shooters. “He just went like _thwip_ and left! What do you even—what can you even _say_ to that?”

“Alright, first of all, that’s definitely hitting on you,” Miles crossed his foot onto his other thigh. “Second, giving someone your jacket is crazy intimate. Third, has no one ever hit on you before?”

“Nope!” You waved your hands wildly. “Dude, I don’t even fuckin’—”

“Hey, calm down,” he touched your forearm gently. “Do you like anyone?”

“I mean, I guess?” You wouldn’t make eye contact. “Spider-Man is kind of my celebrity crush, and I mean… I do miss my ex-girlfriend, but that’s not, like, romantic feelings anymore.”

Setting aside the internal twinge of success that was far more intense than it should have been, Miles made a mental note to tell Gwen that you weren’t straight, but then also made a mental note _not_ to tell Gwen, because then that would be outing you. “Then what are you afraid of?”

“Almost anything with tentacles, and also rejection!” You fucked up your hair. “It was in Spanish! I could’ve translated it wrong in my head.”

 _No, you didn’t,_ he wanted to say, but not at the risk of you questioning how he knew for sure.

“Also, he’s a superhero.” You wiggled around in the chair until you lounged upside down. “Do you know what happens in superhero comics? The significant other gets kidnapped or murdered. Bitches get stitches and plus-ones get ransoms, side chicks get king hit and significant others become cadavers.”

“Okay, that’s kind of good,” Miles admitted, despite his situation.

“Thank you,” you said in the same frantic tone, still upside down in the spinny chair. “Well… you’re a guy. How do you work?”

“Uh,” said Miles, who was somehow unprepared for that question, “what exactly do you mean?”

“I mean, like… if you were Spider-Man and you hit on me, what would you want me to do in response? Like, what’s something that would work on you?”

“So I’m Spider-Man? Um…” he looked up, thinking. You sat up properly, which was good, because your head was beginning to turn red. “Are you sure you’re Spider-Man, or are you just a regular spider? Because I want to pound you against a wall. Is that too intense?”

“Has no one hit on _you_ before?”

“No,” he admitted.

“Really?” Your eyes widened. “Sure, whatever.” It sounded like you didn’t believe him. You shook your head. “His line was really sweet. I’ve been thinking about it since and that was, like, four days ago.”

Miles smirked a little, crossing his arms. “Um, how about, ‘Are you wearing my jacket? Because I’m a perfect fit for you’.”

You clapped your hand over your mouth. “That’s it! If he adds me on Discord, I’m going to say that! Thanks, Miles, I have to go to my dorm for curfew!”

“No problem,” he exhaled.

Miles ragdolled himself onto the bed, mentally exhausted.

“She seems cute.”

“Ah!” He almost jumped out of his skin. “I thought you left!”

Gwen sat in the chair. What was it with girls coming into his room and sitting in his chair? “Nope. I was listening. You better add her on Discord.”

“You should go back to your own universe,” Miles said. “That sounded mean, sorry, I meant more like it’s kind of late and I was already going to do that.”

“Alright,” she rolled her eyes. “See you.”

—

**Several months later**

In a city that never slept, you wanted to have some peace and quiet, for once in your life. This school, this school that you weren’t even qualified enough to attend—it felt like walking in water with your head above, but not knowing how to swim.

Even standing on the roof, all you could think of was the time. You had left your phone and watch and computer at home today, and you didn’t know how long it took to get up here. And you got here before first period, but if you chickened and decided to go to school today, you would be late. Then you would get a zero for not turning in your homework, because you spent all of yesterday drafting your letter, and it would be eight periods of suffering—even more than usual. And then it would affect your grade this quarter, which would negatively impact your grade for the entire year, which—oh, jeez. You… you were spiraling, and obviously, even. You inhaled. It was almost morning, almost midnight. You were… you were going to chicken again. This place was supposed to give you strength, your sort of secret place that you had shared with Miles.

That was an idea that felt almost like poison in your mouth—Miles probably didn’t even care, but going somewhere where someone you knew had died? That would have messed with you, but… but you didn’t have to worry about anything right now. Miles was going to have to deal with it, and he was strong enough to do that.

You knew that New Spider-Man was up and about most nights, but you also knew he was about your age, so he had to be somewhere near his school, so you were counting on him not being there. After all, why would he be? You were fine, the rest of Brooklyn needed him more than anyone around here.

Still, everything looked beautiful for the last time. You stepped onto the bricks lining the edge of the rooftops and sat down to gaze down at the city, noticing a pretty stray tabby ambling towards you. You extended a finger and it rubbed its head against your hand. This cat, it moved like it was in a movie, to the rhythm of a song. Almost like it was playing you out.

“We move like cagey tigers, we couldn’t get closer than this,” you lilted quietly. “The way we walk, the way we talk, the way we stalk, the way we kiss…”

The cat sat down, tail flicking to the beat. And then maybe it was just you, but cartoonish yellow boxes appeared around you, reminiscing pop art, the lyrics dancing across them, and the beat was very quiet, but it was still there, and you wished you had your own lovecat. This was the last time to sing along to a song, this was the last time you had to stop being embarrassed to sing. The cat seemed like it was encouraging you, even. And along those boxes, small lights stretched across the corners, flickering. It was oddly… empowering, sort of, giving energy. You almost felt like getting up and dancing, but not really, just enough to tap your foot.

“We slip through the streets while everyone sleeps, getting bigger and sleeker and wider and brighter,” you sang in a whisper. And then there was—wh… where did this come from? you wanted to ask the guitar in your hands, but muscle memory kicked in and you let the part of you that was constantly afraid relax for once, and it actually worked. “We bite and scratch and scream all night, let’s go and throw all the songs we know…!”

The cars on the street sang their own verses of the daily narrative, and it hit you that even after you jumped, the city would _never_ sleep. You wouldn’t stop this beautiful city. Not even for a minute would the cars cease to sing, or people stop talking, and even after you landed, probably on a car, that car would blare its alarm. It wouldn’t stop for you, you were stopping for it. You didn’t cry.

And someone else sang, too, but it didn’t feel like someone new, it felt just as natural as that backing track. It could have been the cat. You wouldn’t have known, or cared. And a smile spread across your face.

“Into the sea, you and me, all the years and no one else heard.”

“I’ll show you in spring, it’s a treacherous thing,” you sang back to that stranger, no longer bitter. “We missed, you hissed…”

The cat crawled into your lap, awfully fitting. “The lovecats!” you leaned back, playing the lowest notes you knew, humming along. “Ba da ba ba da da- _da ra da_ da-da da, the _love_ -cats!”

The stray purred, and much to your delight, you paused long enough to let it climb up onto your shoulders. But then you considered the practicalities, and—

“The lovecats! Ba da ba ba da da- _da ra da_ da-da da, the _love_ -cats!”

You stood up, trying in vain to get the cat off of you, and tried to step off the roof, but then—

“That’s a nice song,” a familiar voice seemed awfully nonchalant. And loud, louder than before, with an echo that resounded very shortly as life seemed to stop.

You almost fell— _almost_ —but something caught on your wrist—rather _sensitive_ place—strong enough to keep you from falling to your death. Son of a _bitch_. Something inside you felt vulnerable. Whoever was up here, and you _knew_ who was up here, had seen you leave yourself exposed. Gripping onto the wall of the building, you turned around quickly. It was the new Spider-Man. Of course it was. “You like The Cure?”

“I like _The Lovecats_. Sorry to interrupt,” it seemed like he was smiling, but you had no way to tell, “but I couldn’t let you fall, could I?”

The music was gone. Your heart rate escalated. There you were, suspended, webbing wrapped around your wrist like you had seen both Spider-Men save other civilians, staring into his eyes from several yards away, empty, quiet, uncomfortable. His voice shook, too. You knew the new Spider-Man more than the old one. In fact, you’d been… approached by the new Spider-Man more than once. As a civilian, he treated you exactly like every other person in danger—like someone who deserved to be saved. Any other time, you would have collapsed. This time, adrenaline surged through your veins, searching for an outlet.

“You know it’s my job to keep the neighborhood safe, right?” Somehow, through the black and red mask, the whites of his eyes widened in concern. You averted your gaze, slightly mortified—of course this had to happen today. “Are you doing okay?”

“H… how did you even know I was up here?”

“I’m just up on the rooftops a lot,” Spider-Man was still perched in his iconic pose. Well, it was Peter Parker’s iconic pose, but New Spider-Man adopted it. And those other four Spider-Man-themed people, and that one tall goth kid. “And this kid named Miles told me he thought you might be here.”

“Miles…?” You sat down. “Oh, _shit_. Miles saw it already?” Everyone else at school, that was fine, but… Miles? No… not Miles, not the one kid you actually trusted, not the only person who would actually be heartbroken to see you go. Oh, God. If Miles already knew, then he might—he might blame himself, and you couldn’t let that happen. “Spidey, where’s Miles?”

“Oh—Miles is fine. Don’t worry about him, he’s fine, he asked me to come find you, actually.” Spider-Man was avoiding the subject, but then he looked directly at you and your confidence died a bit. “What I want to know is what—”

You dropped the guitar, fingers almost malfunctioning. Spider-Man flinched. You almost did the same, but you felt paralyzed, twitching with surplus energy rather than a negative response to a noise. “Where the fuck is Miles?”

“Miles is safe! And he cares about you,” Spider-Man scratched at the back of his neck, his voice wavering, “and you mean a lot to him, and—”

“Spidey, are you crying?”

Spider-Man inhaled, a bit choked up. “That’s not what’s important. (Y/n), what can I do to help?”

Oh, God. That’s when the tears broke loose. “I—I don’t know. Why are you here, instead of helping people? Sh—shouldn’t you be helping people?”

“I am helping people. I’m helping you, for starters. I’m helping your… boyfriend—” You narrowed your eyes. _Boyfriend?_ You opened your mouth to correct him, but he kept talking. “I’m helping your parents, I’m helping everyone else you know, I’m helping your ca—um, pet,” the vigilante didn’t once raise his voice, didn’t once patronize you, but kept the emotion. You stepped off the bricks, the length of webbing slackening ever so slightly, and then you found yourself walking closer until there was only about a foot between the two of you. “You are just as important as everyone else.”

Boy, he was close. Despite your situation, or maybe because of it, you found your thoughts wandering. You liked superheroes—maybe a bit too much. And you had, on occasion, caught yourself thinking about the new Spider-Man, but that wasn’t anyone’s business…

You thought back to Miles. Pushing down your initial emotion, with the explicit thought of _no, let’s save that turmoil for later,_ you reassessed your friendship with Miles. You didn’t have many friends, much less ones of the opposite sex, and you didn’t really talk about much romance with him, except for one time, when he asked if you liked anyone, which activated your fight or flight response. Panicking, you had said _Um, the new Spider-Man, _and Miles had made a noise that sounded kind of like a goat. It wasn’t a _lie, _but it was more of a celebrity crush, until the new Spider-Man caught you late at night and offered to walk you home. And then it started happening more often, and then… well… you became friends, kind of.____

“So I’m guessing you’re, uh…” you offered a crooked smile that was completely inappropriate for what you were saying. “... _not _going to let me kill myself?”__

“No,” Spider-Man said immediately. “I’m going to try and convince you that life is worth living.”

“Um…” Too exhausted of emotion, you didn’t want to put up a fight. “What do you have in mind?”

Spider-Man himself placed his hands on your shoulders and said, “I have _Crazy Rich Asians_ and _Ratatouille_ at home. I care about you, okay?” You nodded. “Can I trust you to stay alive while I get them and my computer?”

You scratched the back of your hair. “Um…”

“Sorry about this,” he shook his head, and numerous _thwips_ later, you found yourself webbed to the ground. “I’ll be back, and they should wear off about five minutes after then.”

“Alright,” you called, and he flipped away, catching another web to swing away on. You exhaled, looking down at yourself. Hands, knees, and feet webbed. And he didn’t even know about your knife! You struggled against the webbing, knowing you couldn’t break it.

That must have meant that Spider-Man was singing along with you, which meant… Spider-Man liked The Cure enough to know “The Lovecats”. Huh. Interesting, you’d have to write that down—oh, _wait_. You _couldn’t_. You glared at the ground. To be honest, you weren’t actually bitter about that. There are worse fates than a superhero your age tying you to the floor so he can bring you a movie. When did your life get this weird?

The cat was still nudging at you. Your fingers were free enough for you to scratch at its head. You had always shrugged off Spider-Man as another hero that didn’t actually help people, but what he said was genuinely… it… you really felt that. It was more genuine than what your parents said.

You thought back to your email. How did Miles get ahold of Spider-Man to tell him to find you? And why didn’t Miles just come himself? Then you remembered what you said and just… ragdolled yourself backwards toward the ground, limp. Now that you weren’t going to kill yourself, you had to face Miles tomorrow.

You can’t just _undo_ telling your best friend you love them. You can’t say, “I think you’re the only person in the world who understands me. Being your friend is the only thing about myself that I’m proud of. I could never say this to you in person, but I’m in love with you, Miles Morales, and even though some may say I’m too young to know what love is, I feel like I’ve lived centuries with you, and my only regret is that I won’t be able to see you anymore. I’m sorry to leave like this,” and then say the very next day, “Oh, that? I only said that because I was going to _kill_ myself. Can we pretend that never happened?”

Feet on asphalt. You didn’t even have the energy to sit up. “Are you feeling better?”

“I was, then I thought about the letter I put out,” you groaned, before remembering what a verbal filter was.

“What… about?” He had a pleasant voice, and… familiar. You narrowed your eyes just a bit, suspicion spreading, before you just decided to drop it. Whatever was familiar, whatever it was—just, who _gives_ a shit?

“I’ll tell you later,” you ran a hand through your hair, standing up to go drag the couch over.

And then later came, and somehow, you were just… chilling next to the new Spider-Man, your head resting against his shoulder, watching the credits on his laptop. You yawned, and he looked at you.

“I love that movie,” you commented, not wanting to acknowledge how entangled your limbs were. “ _Ratatouille_ ’s a classic.”

“I’d never seen it before.” Spider-Man kept looking forward.

“Really!”

“I mean, I saw it when I was little.”

“Did you like it this time?”

“Yeah, it was amazing.”

A somewhat comfortable silence settled between the two of you. Spider-Man closed the computer. _Visions,_ it called out to you. You chose to ignore it.

“Hey, do you want to make out?”

“Sure,” and then you pulled him against you, his mask pushed up only under his nose, tracing his jaw, using the energy you racked up earlier, kind of… _using_ him, but not so much emotionally, more physically—it felt nice, and he reciprocated, something more substantial in there. His fingers intertwined with yours, he gently pinned you to the back of the couch, the material of his suit not abrasive at all against the skin of your scalp as he messed up your hair. Static electricity crackled, raising hackles on the back of your neck. It was messy, but really… nice.

He opened his mouth to bite your lip and you melted just a little too much into his touch, tilting your head as you kissed back passionately, legs instinctively separating to straddle his—oh, shit, what were you doing…

You broke off abruptly, still framed by him, panting, forehead to forehead. “Shit, I… shit, sorry, spidey.” You ran a hand through your hair, a nervous tic of yours. “Fuck, son of a…” you shook your head. Spider-Man exhaled deeply, climbing off of you.

You felt the young man’s gaze on you. “(Y/n), are you trying to distract me?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m doing,” you muttered from behind hands. “Shit, that was such a goddamn _awful_ thing to _do,_ I just panicked—I was—aw, fuck, I’m sorry—”

Spider-Man looked slightly dazed, scratching the back of his neck, but besides that, he didn’t look offended, really. “Is something happening with you and your boyfriend?” He hadn’t pulled his mask down, so you leaned over to pull it back down, but he instinctively caught your wrist. You winced, and then saw him looking at your arm—your sleeve fell. You could almost hear the gears turning in his brain, so you muttered a quick sorry rather hotly and he let go, almost as if his hands were sticking to your skin. You tugged the mask down under his chin and sat back down, hugging your knees to your chest, trying to shake off the familiarity.

“That’s the second time you’ve said that. I don’t have a boyfriend.” You rested your head in the palm of your hand. “I said I liked this guy, and now I’m going to have to see him again tomorrow and say something like, I meant everything I said,” you stood up in the midst of your ranting, “and he’ll say something like, what you wrote was kind of weird and our friendship will never be the same. And even if he says he likes me back, I’m going to have to say that I made out with Spider-Man! Jesus Christ, I make terrible life decisions!”

The young man followed Spider-suit, standing up as well. “I thought, um, I thought you had something with Miles. When I saw him, he called you his girlfriend—”

“He… wait, really?” That was… a _new_ perspective. You… wow. Holy shit, huh.

Spider-Man nodded. “Yeah. Right after, though, he said he didn’t mean to say that, but he was planning to officially ask you out before he got your email. And the _officially_ part kind of implies… well…”

“I… I _really_ need to talk to Miles. Spidey, I hate to ask, but if you wouldn’t mind giving me a ride—”

“Um, before that,” he touched your shoulder gently. “I need you to promise me that you understand what I said. I know things are hard, and I’m not going to make you promise me that this won’t happen again, but I’m here.” He held your hand. “Alright?”

You shook it, then realized that you weren’t supposed to do that. “Alright.”

Spider-Man held the laptop and the DVD to his side and he turned, before turning back, but before he turned back to you, you caught a glimpse of his laptop and one of the stickers on it. _Visions,_ it said again, and you remembered—

“Wait a minute, spidey, you go to Visions?”

He froze.

You touched his shoulder. “I… you… fuck _me,_ dude, I—”

Spider-Man laughed robotically. “No thanks.” One of his eyes on the suit squinted. “Ha! Ha. We should, uh, we should go.”

You held Spider-Man’s things as he held you, swinging across the city. The night was still dark at three in the morning, the sky still littered with stars whose names you didn’t know, and that you couldn’t see at this speed. Once you saw the alley with your back door, you watched the world gradually slow down.

The young man in red and black set you down on the ground gently, crawling down from a lamp post.

“I’m not going to ask who you are, spidey.” You inhaled, shoving your hands into your pockets. “Thank you. For everything. I’m going to talk to Miles tomorrow, and, uh, clear up _everything.”_

“I’m just glad that you’re feeling better, (Y/n).” He walked a bit closer, reaching for your forearm. Spider-Man didn’t push your sleeve back, didn’t touch your scars, didn’t yell, didn’t raise his voice. He simply traced circles on your palm. “I know it’s not easy.” His voice shook a little. “But please, please don’t hurt yourself.”

Your words caught in your throat. “Spidey, I—fuck, shit—”

“If nothing works, if you have nothing left to hold on to, if you can’t hold on for yourself just yet, do it for me. Okay?” Spider-Man closed your palm into a fist and placed his own hand over it. “I can’t lose you.”

“Get some rest, Spider-Man,” you used his full title. “The city needs you.”

Your arms rested around his torso as he embraced you, chin on top of your head. “I will,” he mumbled into your hair, muffled words clear as day to you, the reverberance oddly and intensely intimate—this was the kind of contact you yearned for whenever a pang of loneliness struck. “Tell Miles he’s lucky to have you.”

Heat rushing to your face—after everything that happened, right _now_ you were blushing?—you pressed your face into his shoulder. “Goodnight, spidey.”

He nodded, letting go of you.

You blinked, and then he was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading all the way through! it is not done yet but if you would like me to add the second part, i can, just let me know :>
> 
> you have infinite value. please never forget that.
> 
> love, moose


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